


30 Day OTP Challenge (READ NOTES)

by a_xmasmurder



Series: 30 Days of OTP: Bond/Q [32]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack Treated Seriously, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, James Bond: Friendship is Magic, M/M, Mission Fic, Multi, anxiety disorders, implied foursome, implied threesome, reupload, suspension of belief
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-01 14:36:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17869106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: This is a story of two fools falling in love in some ridiculous ways.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> So, this has been SO LONG coming, but I've had so many requests to put this series as a chapter story for those with e-readers/smartphones/tablets. And since I'm a horrible trash fire of a human being, I've taken too long to do so. So hopefully everyone sees this.

“Here.” Q held the tiny radio out to Bond. “This has a simple beacon that will broadcast your location as soon as it’s activated.”

“Just like the one you gave me in the National Gallery.”

“Yes, but try to bring this one back? I’m still not sure how you managed to lose that other one.”

Bond smiled at his Quartermaster. “I was in a helicopter. Anything could have happened. Could have fallen out of my pocket?”

Q rolled his eyes. “It hardly matters now. Don’t lose it.”

“Yes, Quartermaster.” He smirked and tipped a mini-salute. “I will do my utmost to not lose the thumbnail-sized transmitter that is most likely the same color as the suit that I will be wearing to the party.”

The deep breath that Q took made Bond’s lips curl even more. “007.”

“Q.”

“Get out of here before I use you as target practise.”

Instead of heeding the warning, Bond leaned a hip against the metal table which served as Q’s workspace. Everything that could be used in his work was scattered on the brushed steel; wires, SSDs, cards, a soldering iron, headphones, plastic bits in assorted colours, pliers, a pocket knife, transistors, batteries, post-its plastered on every relatively flat surface, safety goggles, empty bullet casings and...Bond reached out with one battered hand and picked up a small metallic pill-shaped...”What’s this, then?”

Q had turned back to his monitor, but he looked back at the agent as his hands flicked over the flat keyboard. He peered for a moment, then treated Bond to a smirk of his own that twisted his lips into something Bond found he liked. A lot. “That would be something you wouldn’t know much about, if you are nearly half as good with the ladies as your reputation would have people believe.”

Bond wasn’t sure what that meant. His lifted eyebrow telegraphed that fact, and Q let out a very put-upon sigh. “It’s a vibrator, 007.”

The agent looked down at the small thing in his hand. “A vibrator?” He looked back up at Q. “Awful small.”

“It’s called a ‘Bullet’. It’s rather powerful, actually.”

Bond rolled it around on the palm of his hand. “Alright...”

“I made it remote control so I could test the range. Thinking of making it into a grenade.”

Bond’s head snapped back up. “You are evil.”

“Of course I am. How else can I work with you people.”

“Why would you want to make this a grenade?”

“Because, it would be easier to slip past security.” Q stared at Bond. “It isn’t like you’d need to actually use it, Bond.”

Bond kept his eyes on his much younger compatriot. “Q. Why would you make something like this into a grenade?”

Finally, Q seemed to get it. “Oh. No. _Noooo_ , you aren’t going to use it like that, no, God no. No.” He shuddered. “Oh, _heavens_ no, Bond. You’d plant it somewhere where it’s not noticeable, and set it off by a remote.” He flapped a flustered hand at the vibrator. “Change the color, make it not shiny and...oh, you think I would do something like _that_?”

Bond couldn’t help but laugh at Q’s horrified expression. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Oh, no!” Q shook his head. “Grenades are lethal and scary enough, let’s not shove one up someone’s vagina or arsehole -”

“What the hell are you two on about?” Eve chose this moment to walk past, and Bond relished the chance to see Q blush almost crimson.

“Q is building a grenade out of this.” Bond held up the vibrator.

Eve blinked, and then a horrifying smile graced her face as she regarded the Quartermaster. “You know, Q, that would be an excellent way to smuggle explosives, and discreet to boot.” Bond couldn’t help but feel suddenly, dangerously outnumbered by the crazy in the room. She looked at him. “What, did you expect me to freak out, 007? Q did make an exploding lipstick for me. You know, just in case.” She kept grinning as he laid the stack of reports on top of a pile of motherboards on Q’s desk. “Make sure you fill these out this time, Q. M is getting impatient with the backlog.”

Q sighed and scowled at her. “Fine. Ugh. Paperwork. I hate Acquisitions.” He plucked up the first paper and stared at it as Eve clicked her tongue at him and walked away. Bond followed her with his head, not too sure he should let her out of his sight. Then his head snapped back as the creator of the little baubles and exploding lipsticks and vibrators and transmitters that would go with his cufflinks whined in dismay.

“No, I don’t even have this piece of tech anymore, 006 blew it up in Milan! Fuck, do I really have to fill this out? I’m calling Tanner.” He poked the keyboard with his index finger indignantly. “I don’t have time for thi - Bond, you are still here. Why are you still here?”

Bond held out the vibrator. “Whatever you do, don’t give this to me.”

“You are already holding it.” Q looked confused for a moment, then nodded. “Oh, well. I, um...I could just give it to someone else, then. Why are you so concerned about having it?”

“I just don’t like the idea of it.”

“Don’t tell me you have a vibrator?” Q smiled, a snarky thing that Bond wanted to wipe off the scrawny little bastard’s face.

“No. I don’t have a - “

“Why not? They are pleasant little things.” Q shrugged. “I have one, and it’s brilliant.”

Bond took a moment to think about that sentence, and came up with nothing that told him that Q was a sexual being. He just...couldn’t see the kid (kid?) leaving the safety of his programming and electronics long enough to even bother with sex. _Which could be why he has a vibrator, you idiot._ “Oh?”

“Yes. In fact, it’s also a Bullet. A smaller version of this one, and wired, actually, but it’s lovely.” Q flicked through the remaining papers. “Sits right next to the prostate. Really sparks things up when someone’s riding me.”

Something must have crossed Bond’s face, because Q suddenly laughed. “Oh, did you think I was a helpless little hacker with a flat dedicated to World of Warcraft and Mountain Dew bottles and skin magazines because I can’t get a leg over to save my life?” He sat down on his chair and giggled harder. “Bond. Jesus. If you are ever bored enough, you should come to the clubs with me. They may not make one of your famous martinis, but I can show you a really good time.”

Bond couldn’t stop the smirk from rolling across his face. “Really.”

Q leveled a searching stare his way, and his eyebrow perked up. “Yes, I can. In fact, I insist.” He reached over to cover the little Bullet vibrator still lying in Bond’s palm. His fingers were rather cool, and Bond couldn’t help but look down at the long fingers brushing against the heel of his hand, against the meaty part of his thumb, tracing a white scar with a surprisingly rough fingertip. Q’s palm flattened against his, and Q smirked up at him. “When you get back from Latvia. Meet me at Club Colosseum, ten o’clock. Do not be late, Mr. Bond.”

Bond’s eyes went wide in shock as the little thing in his palm started to buzz, the noise contained by both of their hands. Q continued to stroke his sensitive wrist, still tracing that blasted scar. Without warning, the buzzing ramped up, and the vibrations started to make his palm numb with the sensations. “Dear God.” He blinked, and stared at Q. “You have one of these?”

“Yes. Lovely, isn’t it?” He sighed, and slid his hand away from Bond’s, letting his fingers drag across the man’s hand. “You should get one.”

Bond closed his eyes and closed his hand around the vibrating little thing. “It’s...interesting, yes. Not sure I’d get one, though.”

“Trust me. Get one.” Q winked. “You won’t regret it.”

The agent huffed. “Fine. I’ll get one.” He opened his eyes in a squint. “Do you have a gun for me?”

“Of course, 007. Almost forgot, apologies.”

Bond boggled at how Q was suddenly all business again, completely different than the not-so-subtle...whatever that was. He cocked his head as Q picked up the gun case, and made a field decision.

He was going to have to get some different clothes for this club.


	2. Chapter 2

Bond parked his Jaguar on the street and stepped out, straightening his cuffs and collar as he walked up the sidewalk to the club entrance. They were still letting people in, which was grand. He’d hate to have to keep the young Quartermaster waiting.

Latvia had been boring. Honest-to-God _fucking_ boring. He didn’t even have to use the gun or the transmitter. For once, everything had gone to plan, by the book, and so perfectly seamless that he’d been afraid that someone had actually managed to nuke the world while he rotted in the fucking safe-house. But that was all behind him. As he walked past the line, he acknowledged, with a subtle smirk, the sidelong glances and outright stares he was getting from the women, and some men, who waited to get into the club. He was very glad he’d gone without the suit tonight; with his solid black button up and denims that fit him perfectly, he’d fit right in. He glanced at his watch. 10:02pm. Well, he was here. Not that late. Traffic had been horrid.

He finally slipped past the bouncers at ten past, and winced a bit at the oppressive press of bodies just inside the door, the crowds setting off his mental proximity alarms. He pushed past them and made a straight line to the bar. He blinked against the wild neon theater lights and laser lighting as the bass thumped against his chest. “Definitely not where one would find a computer nerd,” he muttered to himself, barely hearing his own voice in the heated air. He flicked a finger at one of the five bartenders, and when the pretty blonde made her way over to him he leaned forward enough to smell her floral perfume. “Get me your best whisky, straight. Fill the glass.” She nodded and moved away, and he turned, one elbow on the bartop, to scan the crowd. His drink arrived, he paid the girl, and turned back around - and Q was standing right there. “Jesus!” He closed his eyes against the adrenaline rush. “Can’t hear a bloody thing in this place!”

“I’m not having a problem, Bond.” Q leaned forward, almost fully against Bond’s torso, and talked directly at his ear. “You just can’t be afraid to get close.”

Bond could smell the soft earthy notes of Q’s cologne, thankful that he didn’t go with that wild smelling stuff most young people did nowadays. He turned his head so he could talk to Q. “You don’t have to worry about that with me.”

“Good!” Q backed away and knocked back the rest of his vodka and cranberry, at least that’s what it looked like. He set the glass on the bar and reached into the pocket of his - _holy hell, are those painted on?_ \- skinny jeans for money. Bond stilled the motion, belatedly realizing that his hand was resting on a very warm hip. Q looked up at him with very, very green eyes. “What?”

“I’ll get this. You invited me, I’ll get this round.” Bond turned and signaled the blonde again, only to find a drink at his elbow and a scrawny scruff-ball of a hipster grinning at Q, who was grinning _right the fuck back_. He wasn’t ready for the hot surge of _MINE_ that shot through his brain, and he tried to ignore it as the hacker mouthed ‘thanks’ and pointed at Bond. “He’s getting it!”

“Oh, okay!” The boy looked at Bond, who tossed a few bills on the bar. “Keep it.” The boy nodded, and Bond turned away. “Where to, Q - Q?” He looked out to the gathering crowd, and spotted the mop of brown hair moving through them. He pushed away from the bar and followed that head through the throng, straight out to a table that had three others perched on bar stools. The table overlooked the dance floor, which was full of gyrating bodies. Lasers and spotlights bounced and scattered around the area, and in a moment of clarity Bond finally got a good look at Q’s attire...and his brain stopped working for a while. The dark denim skinny jeans accented the man’s hips and thighs, ending in a pair of well worn black Chuck Taylors and topped by a studded belt and a not quite form-fitting dark red button-up that accented his rather toned frame. The sleeves were rolled up to mid-forearm. Silver and black bracelets adorned his thin wrists, and Bond finally looked back up at Q’s face proper to find him smiling at him. “Like what you see, Bond?”

Bond only smiled, something that involved only his eyes. “I do.”

“Nice.” Q flicked a hand at his apparent companions. “Mindy, Tomas, and Natasha. Guys, this is James.” Q whirled around, something that Bond felt could only be pulled off by the hacker, and stepped around the railing to the floor. He turned his head and smiled at Bond. “Are you coming or not?” He had to shout, now that he was that far away from the agent, and Bond shook his head slightly.

“No. Show me what you’ve got, first.”

A fire lit Q’s eyes, something dark and hungry coming across in that gaze, and Q smiled. There was nothing, absolutely nothinginnocent about that small twist of red lips.

Bond continued staring into Q’s eyes until he realized the man was moving.

The hips, first - swaying and rocking with the beat, rolling through the multicoloured stripes slicing across his body. Then the music really started up, and Q was in motion, his head swinging as his whole body moved to the thumping bass of the club music. Beside Bond, Natasha slipped off the stool and joined the hacker out on the floor, matching him move for serpentine move. She slid in front of him, and they rolled together as if they were one organism. Bond’s eyes focused through the smoke of the fog machines and bubbles and lasers, watching Q’s hands slither down the sides of the tight black dress Natasha was poured into, caressing her ribs and hips as she raised her hands above her head.

“You gonna go out there or what, mate?”

Bond ticked his head over to Tomas. “Thinking about it!” He really had to shout now, because the music was building again, throbbing against his head. God, he wanted a cigarette.

“Don’t wait too long, then, man! Or Evan’s gonna take that bird home with him instead of you!”

Bond turned his head back out to the floor, where the apparent mating dance was really heating up. Q - _Evan, his cover name, apparently_ \- was undulating against Natasha now, his hips rolling into her plush arse as he locked an arm around her trim waist and muttered something unintelligible into her ear. He thought he could make out the words ‘James’ and ‘three’.

Oh. This was going to get interesting.

Tomas leaned over again, his shaggy blond hair brushing lightly against Bond’s ear unintentionally. “Man, just go out there!”

Bond turned, very face to face with the kid and smirked. “Let me finish my drink.” He knocked back the rest of his whisky and pushed away from the table as the other two moved out to the dance floor beside him. They were soon intertwined as smoothly as Q and Natasha were, but Bond wasn’t paying attention to that. His eyes were locked on Q, locked on his body, his hair glinting in the spasming lights, the glasses that he supposed looked rather good on Q’s angular face...Those eyes, green depths that gazed at him through the haze and damn near reached out to grab him by the balls to drag him over, oh, those _eyes_. Before he knew what he was doing, Bond had his hands on Q’s hips, guiding both him and the woman into an easy rhythm similar to what they’d been doing before.

Q leaned his head back until it rested on Bond’s shoulder, his mouth close to the agent’s ear. “Interested in a threesome, James?”

Bond smirked, keeping his eyes forward and grinding up against Q’s pert rump. He wasn’t quite hard yet, but just the mention of having both of these beautiful creatures tonight was stirring him. _And why hadn’t I noticed Q before this? And when did this start?_ He shook off the thoughts and allowed the self-satisfied smirk blossom into a smile. “I’m in, _Evan_.”

They stayed like that through three more songs before Natasha waved farewell to her friends (apparently Q had only just met the group) and grabbed both of their hands to lead them out of the club and into the crisp night air.

 --------------------------------------------------

Bond flopped onto his back after extracting himself from the pile of bedclothes and limbs and the two bodies he was curled around. His brain wasn’t functioning correctly just yet, only to the point of pinpointing and reacting to threats, not capable of higher thinking, so he didn’t think about how he was in Q’s bed. He didn’t think of how Q sounded when Nat had swallowed him down to the root with three of Bond’s fingers wriggling in his arse. He definitely didn’t think of a tiny purple metallic pill-shaped vibrator that Q had dragged along his perineum long enough to make him squirm and growl and sweat.

He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, resting his feet on the cold wood floor.

“Are you leaving, Bond?”

He turned his head slightly to accept the press of full red lips against his cheekbone. Q plastered his naked torso against his back and breathed in his ear. “Probably.”

“You know, it’s fine. She’s passed out. We could have a few more drinks in the kitchen if you’d like.”

And that’s how Bond found himself drinking Russian Standard at 5am on a Sunday morning, naked as the day he’d been born in the Quartermaster’s kitchen, with his arms wrapped around thin shoulders as bare as his own, swaying to the beat only they had in their heads. One could call it cuddling, he supposed, but the more he thought about it, the more one word came to mind: anchor. Q was an anchor, a voice in his ear telling him which door to go through, which wire to cut, which baddie to shoot...the voice that always brought him home in the end. He sighed and held out his glass for the hacker to fill again, then watched him take a swig straight from the bottle. Bond tightened his grip, and they stood like that until the dawn light.


	3. Chapter 3

The next three weeks were a complete and total disaster.

He couldn’t even explain why all the baddies in the world decided that they should all get together and have a tiki, but there it was. Between the regular field agents running around at all corners of the world, the Double Ohs just doing their damnedest to not get slaughtered, and the frankly frightening and exhaustively complex super-virus that nearly turned their servers into sparking masses of scrap and slag... 

Q slipped his glasses off and pressed the heels of his hands to both eye sockets, trying to will away the tension headache that had been haunting him for God, he didn’t even know how long anymore. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what day it is.

“I’m sorry?”

He rolled his head towards one of his lesser technicians, and winced at the noises his neck was making. _I must have said the last bit out loud, then._ “What day is it, Liz?”

“Ah, it’s Tuesday.”

Q squinted at his hands. “Are you sure?” He was so tired.

“Yes, sir.”

“Grand.” So that would make it... Did he even have a home anymore? He’s certain that his landlord wouldn’t kick him out for not coming home for a week and a half... “I could use some tea.”

“I’ll get that right away, sir.”

He realised that he was still holding his glasses, which was why he couldn’t see shit. He should put them on, but he couldn’t be arsed to lift his arm. He did want to know how he was still standing, actually. Could be the four cans of energy drinks that sat on his desk. _Four? Is that even healthy? When did I actually drink those?_

“When was the last time you ate, Q?”

He lifted his head to stare at Eve, Miss Moneypenny, who looked about as horrid as he felt. “You look like shit, Eve.”

“Why thank you, Quartermaster, I do try.” A smile leaked out of her, tired and lazy and real. “Answer the question.”

“It’s Tuesday.”

“Yes, it is.”

Q blinked. “The last thing I remember eating was a empanada.”

Eve’s hand tightened around her tablet. “Cafeteria?”

“Possibly. Don’t remember where I got it.”

She stared at him in something like shock. “That was Saturday, Q!”

“Was it?” He tilted his head. “Could have been. Maybe. Virus.” He shrugged, and even that was almost too much, so he flapped his hand instead and offered her a smile of his own. “Busy, y’know...fighting. Double Ohs bickering with me in one ear, techs screeching in the other, and that fucking virus. You should have been here to see the dummy tower erupt into flames, Eve, it was brilliant and I just want to sleep.” He closed his eyes. “Go home with some Thai food and collapse into a couch. As long as I still have a couch. Or a home.”

“I’m sure you have a home, Q.” The new voice that came from behind the man and to his right was none other that Bond. “You have been here, they wouldn’t have sold it out from under you.” Arms wound their way around his shoulders, and wasn’t there a workplace policy against this sort of thing? Q didn’t mind, not really, but others might.

“God, who fucking cares,” he growled to himself, and sank back into that warm embrace that, surprisingly, wasn’t anything more than just that. An embrace. And he was grateful for that, because he wasn’t sure he could even tie his shoes right now, let alone fuck someone. “Bond, take me to get Thai food? Apparently, Taco Saturday was the last time I’ve eaten. I think. Could have done. Doesn’t the vending machine have empanadas? The little meaty ones, I think that’s what I had, and I don’t even remember getting it.”

A deep chuckle reverberated through his spine, which threw him for a loop for a moment...Oh. Bond was laughing. This was new.

“I’ll get you whatever you want. Anything on the telly tonight?”

“Could be. Not sure. Not going to check, lest a super-virus fries my laptop. Could you imagine? Were you here for the tower explosion, Bond? It was fun.”

Eve laughed with Bond this time. Q was used to her laughter, but not Bond's. Bond's sounded...rusty. Dusty from disuse. He rolled his neck around on Bond's shoulder as the woman berated him. “Oh my God, you are rambling now. Bond, get him home. Now.” She shooed at them both, and winked. “I’ll cover for you, because I know you are supposed to be at a psych exam.”

“Like I care?” Bond smirked and led Q away from his desk. He went willingly for a moment, thinking about his sofa and the lovely bed, with covers he could snuggle into, and his home computer system... _wait, hold up!_

“Hey, I have to shut things down first, and then I’ve got to fill out that form for the crossbow, and I have work to do - “

“All of which can wait until you’ve had at least eight hours of uninterrupted sleep and three good meals in your belly. Come on, no one likes a slow hacker.” Bond pulled him to the door, waving at Eve the entire time. “Also, Eve, you go home, too, or I will have 006 or 005 kidnap you and take you to dinner and a movie.”

“Fine! See you tomorrow, Q!”

Just before the door shut again, Q shouted over Bond’s thick shoulder, “Don’t let any of them touch my computer!”

 -------------------------------------------------------

“So.” Bond shuffled the bags around in his arms and set the case of beer on the table. “Do you want the gang mu tay po or the koa mook gai?”

Q hung his coat on the rack by the door and toed his dress shoes off. “I think I’d like both.”

Bond looked back over his shoulder and smiled as the man lowered himself to his knees in front of his Xbox, then sort of flattened out on the grey carpeting. “ _Fuck_. I’m tired. I want to watch something. What do you want to watch?” He stuck out a finger to press the ‘on’ button, then rolled onto his back with a controller in his hands. “I have Netflix. Pick something.”

Bond shrugged as he plated the take out onto mismatched plastic plates. “I don’t really watch things. Not at my flat enough to do so.” He carried the food and beers out to the coffee table and sat down on the couch. “Can’t you do that from up here?”

“Too lazy to move. Pick a random movie, off the top of your head, or we are going to watch The Breakfast Club.” Q folded into a sitting position in front of the gigantic flat screen television and navigated through the menu until he got to the app he needed. “Or My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.”

Bond groaned. “Really?”

“Rainbow Dash is awesome.”

“You are kidding me.”

“Yes.” Q tilted his head back and grinned at the agent. “I am kidding. But I’m not kidding about closing my eyes and picking a movie at random.”

“Get it out of the psychological thrillers, at least. If I end up watching Jackass 3 or some bullshit like that, I am shooting your console.”

Q winced. “Nothing out of there.”

Bond thought for a second. “Not even ‘Hannibal’?”

“Oh, God no.” The look of terror on the hacker’s face wasn’t faked, and Bond relented.

“Yes, okay...thinking of something kinder.”

“Monty Python?”

“Absolutely not.” Bond cracked a beer, and tossed another to Q, who caught it easily despite his exhaustion.

“Hm. How do you feel about Johnny Depp?”

“If you put on Pirates of the Caribbean, I will shoot YOU.”

Q laughed and shook his head. “No, no. I’m thinking ‘Fear and Loathing’.”

Bond cocked his head. “What’s that?”

Q turned fully from the screen and stared at Bond. “You mean to tell me you have never seen ‘Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas’.”

“No?” Bond drank half the bottle in one pull. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Yes. Yes, that is a very bad thing, you sheltered little child. We are watching that. Right now.” He turned back to select the title, and then crawled over to the couch and onto it, grabbing his plate and sticks on the way. “Bloody hell, this smells good!” He left the controller on the ground at his feet, and Bond went to grab it, but had to stop and watch in awe as Q manipulated the controls with his toes to get the movie to begin.

“You -”

“I’m often home alone and too hungry to put food down to mess about with it, so I learned how to play simple games and Netflix with my toes. Convenient, yeah?”

Bond shook his head, finished the first beer, and started the next. “You are mental, Q. Completely mental. I love it." He gestured to the kitchen. "We still have an unopened bottle of Russian Standard in the freezer, and twelve more bottles of beer once we are done with this six-pack.”

“All we need now is some pizza and pot, and we’ll be stellar for watching this.”

Bond stared at Q again. “No.” Well, maybe. Yeah. Yeah, actually, he could see Q smoking pot.

Q smirked. “Secondary and Uni.”

Bond’s head hit the back of the couch as the chuckle rolled out of his chest. “I thought I knew you.”

“Apparently not.” There was a grin on Q’s face, which made it all better, so much better, made every fucking thing about this month so much easier. As the movie started, Bond put his arm around Q’s shoulders.

“When was the last time you slept?”

Q swallowed a mouthful of Thai with a swig of beer. “Here, or on the communal couch in the lounge?”

“In general.”

Q shrugged. “Not sure, actually. Probably the last time I ate.” He rolled his head on Bond’s shoulder. “You and Michaels were really up shit creek in Bolivia, and I didn’t want to leave you two alone to your own devices.”

“We would have managed. You could have handed us off to someone else.”

“Oh, no.” Q shook his head. “Not a chance.” He relaxed into Bond’s embrace as he stared at the screen.

Bond rested his head on top of Q’s mop of hair, which really looked like a mop now. “Haven’t taken a shower recently, either.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” Q made motions to get up, but Bond tightened his arm around him.

“You are fine. Relax. Watch the movie. We’ll worry about the smell later.”

Q looked up to find the agent grinning. Actually grinning. _More new things_. “Are you sure?”

“Eat.”

The hacker huffed and finished the plate, putting it on top of Bond’s empty beer bottles. He drank the last of his beer, then reached for another and snuggled into Bond’s side...and was asleep in five minutes.

Bond smiled. _I’m gonna let him nap, then wake him up for that shower. It is a big shower._


	4. Chapter 4

Bond opened his eyes and groaned. _God, my neck hurts_. He risked rolling his head to look towards the kitchen, ignoring the complaints his spine lodged with his brain, and watched a much more awake Q move about with breakfast. The smells coming from the small room were waking his stomach faster than his brain. “What’s cooking?”

“Not a full English, if that’s what you are expecting.” Q popped his head over the counter that served as the half-wall. “Eggs and bacon, is all.”

“Oh, count me in. I’m going to go take a shower.” Bond groaned again as he pushed himself to his feet, trying not to think about how Q was able to get up without waking him. He probably already had his shower, too. Damn.

The bathroom - he remembered where it was - was much warmer than the rest of the flat, and Bond smiled at the thought of Q, shivering naked on the tile after a wild night, waiting for the water in the shower to warm up, could hear him muttering ‘come on, hurry the fuck up...’ He quickly peeled out of yesterday’s suit and turned the shower on full blast, using the warm up time to carefully pull off the gauze covering a large abrasion on his left side. “Damn, should have done this in the shower,” he muttered as the mottled pad refused to let go. He finally just ripped the fucking thing away and hissed out a quick breath at the burn. Immediately, warm blood dripped down his sun-darkened skin and onto his thigh. “Damn it.” He looked up into the mirror and smoothed the pained glare of his eyes. “James, you are an idiot,” he told his reflection, and stepped into the shower stall, closing the glass door behind him. The steam quickly filled the alcove, and he breathed in deep, relishing the hot, humid air. After being in Bolivia for so long, coming back to the dry cold of England was a disappointment. But he always came back, didn’t he? And just as well, because it seemed he now had something to come back too, even if that something was just as bad off as he was -

The bathroom door opened, and Bond could barely make out Q’s thin frame as he crossed to the counter, setting down a plate. “You brought breakfast in here?”

“Why not? This is where I eat, half the time. How’s the road rash?”

Bond tipped back his head, letting the water sluice down his skin, pulling the tension with it. “Hurts. I took it off out there. Didn’t want to mess up the shower.”

“You still are, and it’s a shower, Bond. Water washes away all evidence, given enough time.” The figure outside of the frosted glass warped and shifted, and Bond realised Q was stripping.

“Q?”

“I haven’t taken a shower yet. Just woke up to make breakfast. I’ve only been awake a few minutes longer than you.” The door slid back, and Bond moved away from the hot spray to allow the hacker entrance. As soon as his head hit the water, that luxurious mop of hair fell along his neck and face with the weight, and Q hummed in sheer glee. “Oh fuck, that feels amazing.” He lifted his arms to reach for the shampoo, but Bond beat him to it.

“Let me.”

Q turned, brushing his hip against Bond’s stirring prick. “Alright.” He closed his eyes and Bond went to work, massaging Q’s scalp and hair, trying damned hard not to take a nip of that lovely neck... He tipped the hacker forward so he could wash the soap out, then murmured, “Conditioner?”

“Leave it. Bond, leave it and touch me.”

He looked down to find Q half hard and getting harder, and looked back up into those emerald eyes. “So, scalp massage?”

“I can't help that I have sensitive follicles.”

“Perfect.” Somehow, he’d missed that the first time they’d fucked. “I didn’t pull your hair enough last time, then.”

“Glad you didn’t.” Q hummed as Bond’s hands strayed down, one going to the curve of his arse, the other wrapping around his prick. “Oh, brilliant. That feels good, Bond.”

Bond leaned forward and tasted Q’s neck, right over the pulse point. “My name is James.”

“Ah...oh!” Q jerked as Bond nipped the skin, leaving a bright red spot that he immediately soothed with his wet tongue. “Ahhh...James, yes. James Bond. 007. Fuck!” His hips jerked forward once - twice - three times as Bond twisted his grip and rolled his wrist, jerking him against the agent’s thickly muscled thigh. His hands ghosted up Bond's sides, avoiding the abraision entirely. “Oh, Jesus, James.” He dropped his head to Bond’s shoulder and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the skin there, sucking a dark bruise into the cord of muscle leading to his neck as the bigger man rolled his hips forward into Q’s own and moaned deep in his chest.

Bond smirked at his young Quartermaster, the man he was currently dismantling under the hot spray of the shower, and turned his head to nibble on the shell of his ear. “What do you want?”

“Just....don’t fucking stop, whatever - oh, GOD - you do, don’t stop.” Q’s hips were stuttering against him now, riding against his own erection, and God, that felt good.

“Feels good?” He kept his voice silky and soft.

“You have...no idea - JAMES!” The sudden shout was the only warning Bond got that Q was right there on the edge, so he slowed down just a bit, enough to back him down again. The wretched-sounding whine that ripped out of the younger man’s throat was completely worth it. “F-f-fucking hell, James. James. Jesus.” Q panted out his name over and over as Bond picked up the pace again, moving him out of the water a bit so that he could spit on his hand as a lubricant. That little change in friction had Q growling in desire and kissing Bond hard and fast, all teeth and tongue and lust. Of course, because of the last few weeks of absolute hell, it was over much too quick, and Bond didn’t even get a warning this time as Q tipped over the edge, only a warbling moan and his body jerking hard in the agent’s grip as he came against Bond’s thigh and cock, whimpering little apologies and consonants that could have been a name. Bond stroked him gently through it, running his hand through Q’s sopping wet hair as he shuddered out the last of his orgasm. Suddenly, Q went limp against him, and Bond tightened his grip, only to have the young man bat at his hands.

“No, James, let me, damn it...”

Bond let go and blinked through the water gathered on his lashes as the hacker dropped to his knees on the tile floor of the shower and licked up the underside of his cock. The sight of Q, on his knees before him, with one hand circling his prick and the other kneading his arse, was mesmerizing.  

“The hot water is going to run out soon. I’m going to make this quick, since I still have to wash. Do you mind?”

Bond realised that was a question, and it was directed at him. “Oh, yeah, it’s fine.”

And good fucking Lord, Q wasn’t kidding. That mouth latched on and pulled Bond along for a five minute whirlwind blowjob. He could barely pick out the different sensations, all he could feel was the tight, hot, fucking vacuum and the tongue that never did stay in one spot, writhing along his length and igniting fireworks in his blood. His orgasm, when it came, slammed into him like a fucking aeroplane crash, and he damn near hit the tile himself. God, it was a long time since he’d had something that raw and quick, and he could remember why it was good. It left him dizzy and wanting a bit more...fuck, no, it left him wanting so much more. He stared down at Q. “You alright?”

Q tilted his head up and smiled, wiping his chin - and that was hot as hell. “Yes. Better. Now I want to go back to sleep though.”

Bond smiled. “Breakfast first, then - oh, shit. We have to go -”

“I know. Back to work.” He winced. “After that, then.”

“Yeah.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Bond tapped his fingers on the steering wheel at red light and scanned the street ahead. Beside him, in the passenger seat, Q tapped away at his phone while talking one of his lesser techs through an install of a system for something Bond didn’t actually fully understand, so he kept his nose out of it, instead looking for a place to have lunch. After they’d gotten clean in the shower and shared the plate of eggs and bacon, Bond had taken Q to bed and broken him down to his component parts, then they’d napped for an hour. They were woken up by their phones buzzing off the nightstand, and they rushed to dress, not giving much thought to eating. But as Bond waited in traffic - horrid, again, damn it all - he got to thinking.

Q took him clubbing one night. He should at least return the favour.

“How does Chinese sound for lunch?”

“Travis, for the last bloody time, it isn’t in the .zip file - sorry, James?”

“Chinese food.”

“Yes. That file.” Q turned to him. “And yes to Chinese.”

The light turned green, and Bond whipped out of the line of traffic to the next road.

The little place they ended up at barely had three chairs, smelled of soy sauce and chicken parts, and had chicken feet on the menu. Q was in heaven. Bond watched him scarf down a bowl of egg drop soup and mapo dofu, then start on an order of those feet, and smiled. This almost felt like a date. As Q looked up and pushed the feet towards Bond’s plate of spicy crispy beef, the agent realised it was a date. It was a date for two men who didn’t  _do_ dates and had lives that didn’t lend to dating. Not to mention that apparently Q can pull whomever the fuck he wanted for quick dirty fucks and one night stands only, and Bond couldn’t do any better than broken femme fatales. He sighed and smiled at the man sitting across from him, wondering if he was falling down the rabbit hole once again.


	5. Chapter 5

Q dropped his head against the backrest of his computer chair and sighed. It felt like every ounce of energy leaked out with each molecule of air that escaped his lungs, leaving him puddled in his chair. His brain felt like mushy peas, honestly. The music pumping through his over-ear headphones didn’t cut even cut through the fog.

“How long do I have to work here until I get a vacation?” He pushed himself forward again and slipped the form he’d been filling out to the side for a moment. He knew just the ticket to get his mind back on track: some good old-fashioned hacking. _I wonder if I can get all the way into the CIA director’s computer again without someone catching me?_ He glanced at the small clock in the corner of his computer monitor. _And can I do it in under five minutes?_ A smile lit his face and he cracked his fingers.

\------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Bond slumped against the wall outside of the examination room, smiling to himself. How he managed to pass this exam would be a mystery to him. At least he hadn’t walked out on the prick sitting in front of him, and he hadn’t punched him, either. Both of those things were steps in the right direction, he supposed. His stomach grumbled at him, reminding him that the amount of greasy and fried food he’d had in the last few weeks was not appreciated in the least. The re-bandaged abrasion was aching again, and his back wasn’t doing much better from sleeping in a sitting position on the couch. _Thought the sex might knock it loose or something._ He didn’t want to wait for the damned results. He pushed himself to his feet and walked away, ignoring the sidelong glances from the technicians and Tanner as he shoved the doors open and disappeared.

He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he didn’t really care, either. He just wanted to get away from that hateful room. It wasn’t until he halted in front of the door leading to the indoor firing range that he smiled. _This works_. He walked into the waiting area and grabbed a generic set of ear protectors off the pegs, and went up to the desk for his glasses and extra ammo for his Walther. He stepped up to the firing lane. He was the only one there, which was odd for a Wednesday - usually agents started going a bit stir-crazy by four in the afternoon on a Wednesday if they weren’t on a mission or otherwise occupied - but he didn’t mind. He’d rather be alone here.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Well, that’s going to get me another note on my file.” Q leaned back with satisfaction as he finished knitting up the little doors he’d left in the CIA’s mainframe. Their sysadmin had been really on her game today, and it’d taken him ten minutes to finagle his way into their systems. He didn’t dare spend too much time inside, since she was on his arse the whole time, and he’d backed out of the little game they played. Too bad, really - he was having so much fun. Being the Quartermaster did have some downsides, after all. He smiled as an alert pinged on his personal cell phone. He plucked it off the charging pad and flicked his finger over it.

**MSG:**

**hope u had fun spider**

**\- trinity**

Q’s lips ticked up another notch as he thumbed a quick reply.

**I did. Hope it was good for you too. I do aim to please. - spider**

He tossed the phone back down and scribbled out the rest of his reason why Bond deserved a high tech crossbow, his brain feeling much more awake, and waited for the inevitable -

His work phone buzzed on the pad. He picked it up and hit ‘Answer’. “Q here.”

“Q. We’ve talked about this.”

He smiled even wider. “I needed to clear my brain, and the best way to do it is to test the latest anti-cyberterrorism setup our friends over the pond have come up with. Though I am loathe to say -”

Tanner huffed on the other end. “Q -”

“ - it, they’ve got a good one this time. Took me a while to get in, but that’s because they managed to hire someone worth the money they pay.”

“Q!”

The Quartermaster had to bite his lips to hold back the laughter. “I’m sorry, Tanner, sir.”

“If you were actually sorry, you wouldn’t keep doing it!”

“Understood, sir. Won’t happen again.” He could hear Bill Tanner muttering under his breath about how many times he’s said that exact thing before. “I mean it this time.”

“No. More. Or you will have to answer to M himself.”

“Understood.”

“Have you tested the new ammunition yet?”

Q’s brows bunched together for a moment before he groaned. “Oh, damn it. No.”

“You forgot about it, didn’t you?”

“To be fair, we’ve all been a bit busy up until last night.”

“Yes. Which is why I’m reminding you now. M wants a full ballistics write-up by seven.”

“Of course. I just need to gather some things, then I will be on my way to the range.”

“Perfect.” The line went dead in his ear, and Q shoved the phone into his back pocket and grabbed the black case off of the guest chair next to his desk - _right there in front of me, why didn’t I see the damned thing!_ \- and his tablet, then almost ran out the doors.

\------------------------------------------------------------------- 

_That’s the whole box, then_. Bond rolled his neck on his shoulders and dismantled the Walther with ease. He had every intention of cleaning it and going to find something edible in the cafeteria, but the door opening grabbed his attention by the horns. He turned to find Q armed for - well, a one man war against Russia, apparently. The agent watched him maneuver through the doorway and nod once to the man working the ammo counter, saying something about already having all he needed, thank you very much and could he just set up four different stalls, that would be grand... Bond couldn’t help the thrill that rolled up his spine as he watched Q wrestle with a SA80, a couple handgun cases, a AS50, and a rather large case. His ear protection hung on his wrist, and he set down the boxes and guns so he could take his glasses off, hook them on the back of his shirt, and slip on a pair of custom shooting glasses. Bond could feel his pulse quickening. _Dear God in Heaven_. How much hotter could Q get?

As the Quartermaster readied the equipment around him, Bond got his answer: much hotter. Q knew his way around weapons. Bond already knew that. The man made most of the guns by hand half the time, and the other half he was tinkering with off-the-shelf ones. He deposited a gun in front of each shooting station, leaving the two large ones to the furthest stalls. Each gun was meticulously checked and cleared before the young man walked away from it. Finally, he opened the mystery box and took out a smaller container which turned out to carry bullets. New bullets. Ones Bond had never seen before. His hand fell to the counter, scant centimeters from his field-stripped Walther. The bullets were nine millimeter, of course...except there were other boxes that he could see, and those looked bigger.

Q began thumbing each individual round into the magazine of a Glock 26 he’d freed from its carrying case, and paused to make a quick note on his little tablet he’d propped up against the side of the stall. He muttered something unintelligible to himself, and jammed the clip into the well, and stood back up. Bond watched him settle into a stance, lift the gun, and fire off the whole clip in less than a minute, barely even blinking or twitching. Immediately, his finger flicked the safety and he knelt back down to make more notes on his tablet, then he stripped the gun and made even more notes while cleaning it down and reassembling it, putting it back into its padded case and moving on to the next gun. Bond resisted the urge to follow, only watching carefully as Q picked up the Browning and did the same routine with it, the recoil on the much larger handgun making the lean muscles in his arms stand out. Bond wasn’t just impressed - he was losing room in his trousers quickly.

\----------------------------------------------------------------- 

Q grinned when he got to the assault rifle. Frankly, his opinion was that you could easy use a club to beat the hell out of something; all the assault rifle did was give you distance. He sighed deeply. Hopefully the butt plate he’d installed lived up to the manufacturer’s standards. He filled the magazine, fed it into the well at the front of the receiver, and lifted it to his shoulder, adjusting slightly. Off to one side, he could hear James take a slight breath, and grinned against the stock. _If this is all it takes to turn the man into a puddle of ‘fuck me now’, I’m going to start bringing my work home with me._ He debated on whether he should beat the shit out of his shoulder on full auto and see just how dirty these rounds really were, or save himself a hot water bottle and just do it three at a time. His finger slipped forward to flick the selector to three-round burst, and with Bond’s glacial stare on him, he unleashed the devil inside the rifle. The recoil punched him hard, but he held on, keeping the scope centered and his grouping tight. He didn’t really bother aiming, but he didn’t want the thing going wild on him, either. In less than a minute, the whole clip was gone and his shoulder hurt. He blinked at the paper downrange.

“Looks like you killed it.” Bond’s voice murmured into his ear. Q leaned back, lowering the rifle until it was pointed at the floor.

“I do hope so, James. I did empty an entire clip of new Glaser rounds into it.”

“Is that what these things are?” Bond held up a bullet casing. “I was wondering what the difference was.”

“Technically, I should be testing on human analogue -”

Bond cocked his head, and Q smirked. “Dead pig.”

“Ah.” His voice was still deep and silky, the sort of voice Q was still only used to hearing either in the bedroom or over his comm, and it was doing things to his belly.

“Anyway,” he continued, “M wants a report by seven, and - AH!”

Bond’s hand had insinuated itself into the seat of his trousers, under his pants, and now was massaging his arse. “You were saying?” was all the agent said before he lowered his head and pressed his lips against Q’s, a quick peck that turned very sensual and intimate and had Q growling and pawing helplessly at Bond’s shoulders. Finally, they came up for air. Q sort of just gasped in Bond’s face as the man smirked.

“When today is over, we will be going for Italian - good Italian - and then I’m taking you back to mine.”

“Absolutely brilliant.” Q matched the smirk, even though his shooting glasses were all askew on his face. “Get back down here, you bastard.”

“Gladly.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains discussion of multiple partners in a slightly uncomfortable situation (possibly very uncomfortable for some readers, so if you don't care for weirdness of that sort, you can skip this chapter completely) and a bit of exhibitionist tendency.

Q shifted in the chair, settling in comfortably after handling the wine order, feeling rather out of place in his only really good suit. “I’m not at all surprised that you got us an exclusive seat.”

Bond smoothed the front of his charcoal suit and smiled at the Quartermaster. “It wasn’t a problem. They know me here. They know what I like when I’m here in London. Alec and I come here often enough, and it seems they are used to jumpy government agents dropping by for tea.”

“Of course you would come here with him. When the two of you are within twenty feet of each other, you become limpets. It’s disturbing.”

Bond laughed, and nodded as the wine was poured. “We have a special bond.”

“And it’s frightening.”

“It isn’t. We are good friends.”

“Who happen to be attached at the hip.”

“As you say.” Bond’s smile turned a bit uncertain as he watched Q’s hands fidget with the cutlery. “I know this isn’t your usual fare, but I’m afraid one more night of take out would have my stomach demanding damage pay.”

Q’s eyebrows ticked up a bit. “Oh, I’m fine! I may not be as cultured and well-traveled as you, James Bond, but I do have my fair share of fine dining experiences.” He looked around a bit. They’d been put into the furthest corner, near the kitchen and multiple escape routes. The view included all doorways and windows, and his dinner companion sat at an angle that allowed him full access to not only his gun but also escape. “My usual is Japanese, if I go fancy.”

“Sushi?”

“Only the best.”

Bond’s face scrunched up in amusement. “You have a fetish for Asian, don’t you?”

“Possibly. I like the culture, too.” He took a sip of the wine, and smiled. “This is good. I made a good choice.”

“Oh, yes.” Bond nodded. “Tomorrow night, we can go to sushi.”

Q smiled back at him. “That would be perfect.”

\------------------------------------------------------------ 

The dinner had been amazing, nothing that Q would recognize outside of the restaurant but was very pretty looking and exquisitely prepared and tasted brilliant - and now he was carb loaded, which he figured had been Bond’s plan all along, considering the hand that had been traversing his thigh and groin all the way to Bond’s rather lovely flat. They moved as one through the hotel lobby as if they owned the place - and with some appropriated funds from the Swiss bank account of some drug cartel kingpin in Miami he had permanent access to, he _could_ own this fucking place - and drove a vacationing American family away from the elevator banks with a very not safe for work public display of  “Jesus fucking Christ, Bond, we are out in the _lobby_ , will you keep your fucking hand off of my cock!”; though, to be completely honest, the oldest daughter might be a Tumblr user, considering her slack-jawed interest in the proceedings. Q gave her a wicked smirk and squeezed Bond’s arse, making the agent groan and bite his neck, just before the scandalized mother dragged her daughter away. The elevator doors opened and they walked in, the elderly lady operating the elevator giving them both a knowing look as she pressed the button for Bond’s floor. As soon as the doors slid shut, Bond dropped to his knees and tugged Q’s white dress shirt out of his pants, licking at each centimeter of skin bared to the bright overhead lighting. Q giggled and patted ineffectually at the agent’s head. “Not here, either, we’ve got company for God’s sake!” All that got out of Bond was a low growl, and it was the old lady who spoke up.

“I’m used to James beginning his conquest of hearts in the elevator, dear. A young man is new, but I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.”

Q wanted to blurt out that 'God yes, Bond knows exactly what he was doing and _how_ ', but he stuttered out an apology instead and tightened his hands in the short blond hair on top of Bond’s head. “Sorry, so s-s-sorry, oh hell Bond!” He yelped and tugged when the man nipped at the sensitive skin of his hip - _oh God, my trousers are undone, damn it!_ \- and whined plaintively at the ceiling at the sheer embarrassment of having it off with one of the hottest men in London as someone pointedly did NOT watch...

The elevator stopped smoothly, and the lady - Q finally noticed her name tag (Ester) - smiled at them. “Here is your stop, Mr. Bond.”

Q couldn’t get him off the damned elevator fast enough, and it was only a few steps until they got to Bond’s flat, but the agent slammed him up against the solid oak doorway and growled at Q before dropping his head to Q’s neck to nip and bite and tongue at the pale skin and Q stopped caring that they weren’t in bed or even somewhere remotely private. His hands scrabbled at Bond’s thick biceps and dug into the soft material of his suit, then stroked down his rock hard torso to pat at the hip pockets of his trousers to find - “Keys,” he muttered between biting kisses, “Getting the keys, not the gun.” He wasn’t sure why he was trying to reassure Bond until he hooked the key ring in his hand and felt the tension leak from the man’s frame. _Duh. Duh duh duh_. “Let’s get inside, yeah?”

Bond nodded, a slight motion of his head as he sucked a mark into the roll of muscle at the base of Q’s neck. Q, for his part, kept his thigh firmly wedged between the agent’s legs so the man could rut against him as he felt behind him blindly and managed to unlock the door, turning the handle - which wasn’t the smartest idea because they both tumbled backwards as the door opened, sending them sprawling onto the Oriental runner. Q made to kick the door shut again, but Bond pounced, pushing both hands roughly up the hacker’s torso beneath the dress shirt to run calloused fingers over pert nipples, making the young man damned well moan with pleasure. Bond licked into Q’s mouth again, devouring each little gasp and noise that he made as he bucked up into Bond’s hips.

“I’m going to fucking tear you apart, Q.” Bond nipped at his bottom lip and hummed as Q pushed his thigh up against Bond again, trying to give as much as he was getting. Bond rocked his hips down, pushing hard onto Q. “I’m going to ruin you.” _I’m going to destroy you, too, he thought bitterly_. But then Q latched onto Bond’s neck and bit hard, hard enough to knock him out of his reverie.

“I - I look forward to it, you bastard.” Q pulled at Bond’s jacket. “Take this fucking thing off.”

Bond drew his hands out of Q’s shirt and shed the outer layers of his ensemble, tossing it in the direction of the living area, and Q made short work of the buttons of his shirt. Bond didn’t even bother trying Q’s buttons. He just tore the shirt open, destroying it. Q hissed in a hot flash of anger. “You jackass! That was my good shirt!”

Bond snorted. “Fuck you, I can buy you another one.”

Q dragged himself out of his ruined shirt as Bond shed his, and then their lips met again. Hands roamed and pinched and stroked - Q fumbled with Bond’s belt, muttering under his breath every time they broke for air. Bond finally took pity on him, leaned back on his knees, and took it off, along with his trousers and pants. Q almost went cross-eyed with sudden, all consuming want, and he wriggled out of his already undone trousers and pants, kicking his sad excuse for dress shoes off with the mess, and rose to his knees, dragging his whole torso along Bond’s naked prick. The groan rumbling slowly out of Bond’s mouth sparked something in Q’s mind, maybe something a bit submissive, and he went with it. He licked at Bond’s chin as he pushed their bodies together. “Take me, James. Take me and make me yours.”

A tremor rippled through the man’s muscles, thrilling Q to the bone. “With pleasure.”

Q smiled as seductively as he could and looked up, past Bond to the open door - and saw Alec standing in the hall, a stunning brunette on his arm, and a shocked look on his face. “Oh, _fucking hell!_ ”

Bond immediately picked up on the change in Q’s tone and had his gun in his hands, twisting at the hip to sight in on - “Alec!”

Q growled in dismay and fucking mortification as he scrambled for something to put on, for Christ’s sake, anything will fucking work, a paper bag or potato sack - his hands pulled Bond’s shirt and charcoal suit jacket to him and he quickly put them on as Bond stood up, a cocky smirk on his damnable face.

“I thought you were going to be in Morocco for a while longer.”

Alec, to his credit, kept his eyes focused on Bond, not even giving Q another look, though the hacker was certain he’d seen every  _bit_  of him, fucking hell. “Mission was over earlier than expected. Missed you, figured I’d bring Ida here over to have a bit of fun...but seems something happened while I was gone.”

“Hello, Ida.” Bond smiled and waggled his fingers at the woman, who gave him a long, slow look that started from his eyes and ended at his toes, then curled back up. Then she looked at Q, who finally managed to wrap Bond’s clothing around him. Bond looked down at him, a fire lit behind his ice blue eyes. “What do you think, Evan? Want to add a couple others to our little soiree?”

Q stared up at him. “Alec?”

Alec smiled and finally looked down at him, and Q found a playful little flame playing in his green eyes. “I’m game if you are.”

“You are kidding me.”

Bond suddenly looked worried. “Unless you don’t -”

Q stood up, finding that the shirt, when buttoned, went just low enough to hide his still-hard cock. “Where do you keep your booze? I only do multiple partners when I’ve been drinking.” He couldn’t be too upset at the proceedings, actually; Ida looked to be a fun bed partner. He just wasn’t sure about Alec Trevelyan, whom for all intents and purposes was completely straight. Or so he’d thought.

Bond waved to the kitchen, and Q walked away from them, leaving them to discuss whatever sleeping arrangements they needed - even with a large bed (and Q had caught a glance when he’d been here with James earlier in the night so the agent could change out of his three day old suit and clean up a bit again), with more that three people, sleeping arrangements had to be made, or you’d just end up with a tangle of limbs and that just wasn’t fun - and searched for the alcohol.  As he reached into the right hand cabinet closest to the fridge for the bottle of Stoli, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Alec.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to intrude.”

Q turned around to face Trevelyan, and sighed. “It’s fine. It’s not as if James had planned for this to happen. And it’s obvious that you two - “

Alec lowered his hands to Q’s hips. “Do you want to?”

“No, I think the question is, do you want to?” Q stared up into Trevelyan’s eyes. “I’m a man.”

“So is Bond.”

“But you don’t fuck him -”

“I don’t plan on fucking you, either.” His hands tightened on Q’s hips. “Bond’s laid claim to you. It’s plain as day.”

Q stared at him. Laid claim to me? What? “But...I thought...”

“Don’t think. Drink. I’ll grab the glasses, and we can discuss the idea Ida thought of as soon as she realised that there were going to be three men fucking her tonight.” Alec paused. “Unless you’re gay?”

Q smirked. “Hardly. What’s this plan?”

Alec returned the expression. “Well, it has to do with positions, actually...”


	7. Chapter 7

“Nope.” Bond looked at the...thing hanging in the closet. “Absolutely not.”

“Come on, James. It’s for a mission.”

“I’m not wearing this.”

“You will be able to carry weapons openly and pass them off as replicas.” Q smiled and adjusted the straps of the customized headgear he was holding, the one that looked real but was fake - but he'd installed an actual experimental HUD in the faceplate and added a communications array. So it was, in fact, actually real. If he was completely honest with himself, he was geeking the fuck out. Really. The suit hardly needed any adjusting, which made him want to cry in sheer joy. He turned his head to Bond, who stared at his Snake Eater costume, and fought to keep his voice at a human level. “And you get to kill some bad guys. What more could you want?”

“To be normal while doing so?” Bond shook his head again. “There is no way in hell I’m getting into that.”

“It’s not that bad, is it? You will look fine.” Q waved his hand at Bond’s back and walked the rest of the way into the bathroom to finish his Raiden cosplay costume. _This is going to be so worth the massive amount of Xanax and vodka I consumed on the way over here._ He pulled a straightener out of what he liked to call his Con-Kit and plugged it in, smoothed heat-reactive mousse in his hair, and rummaged in the bag for his blue contacts. “Don’t you pride yourself on doing anything in your power for a mission? This is very important, James, don’t forget that we are looking for a loose nuke.”

“It’s bloody skin tight!” The indignant shout from the master bedroom made Q giggle under his breath.

“As if half your suits aren’t?”

“They have room to breathe, Q, this thing has a cup. A cup!”

Q looked down at himself, smiling even wider. “So does mine, and believe me, it’s flattering.”

“Q!”

“Just put the bloody thing on, we haven’t got all day!” The straightener’s little light turned on, and he picked it up to start on his mess of curls and pointedly ignored Bond’s little bitch fit. He heard the hangers rattle, which was a good sign. He made short work of his hair, then pulled out the white spray that would change the colour. When at all possible, he avoided wigs because the mesh would make his skin itch. Damn his sensitive skin. With the judicious application of many hair products, he could recreate many hairstyles, something that could come in handy one day if he were to need to go undercover for some reason - like now. He flicked on the overhead vent with one finger as he shook the can of hair colour spray with the other hand, and grinned at himself in the mirror. “This is going to be so much fun.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------- 

“But I haven’t even heard of Metal Gear Solid 4, damn it,” Bond muttered under his breath. He cocked his head and stared at the fucking skin suit Q had presented him with this morning before he’d even gotten a cup of coffee into him. Now he was regretting the coffee and wishing he’d just gone with the mini-bar. The whole mini-bar. _I can’t believe he expects me to wear this fucking thing._ He could hear something spraying in the lav, but all he could see was a cloud of white. Brilliant. He’s going to suffocate in there.

Keeping to Q’s wishes, Bond had kept his eyes to himself as the man dressed himself. But he really wanted to know what Q was wearing. It was burning a hole in his head. It'd better be as ridiculous as his costume. He tossed one final glare at the black and grey whatever-the-fuck the thing was supposed to be, and stripped his t-shirt over his head and unbuckled his belt. What the hell. Why not? It can’t actually be that bad.

The leggings themselves weren’t too bad after all. The material was breathable and rather comfortable, which came as a complete surprise to Bond. He couldn’t wear underwear with it, which probably was the only complaint he had. The upper part was attached to the leggings, and that made things much easier in the long run, even if he did have some issue getting his arms into the sleeves. _These things were meant to show off the musculature and be as skintight as possible to act like a wetsuit_ , Bond thought, going through the dialogue from the last time the SIS had introduced bodysuits like this to the Double Os. Completely ridiculous, save for the wetsuit feature, but  _honestly._

This one wasn’t made for combat, though, which made him feel slightly uncomfortable - or was it that his left testicle was sitting rather uncomfortably on the damned cup plastered on his crotch? He tried shifting his hips, and it slipped back into position. Bond sighed in relief. _I might actually kill Q after this. Q first, then M, and go walkabout for a few years._ He snatched the custom equipment off the bed, the stuff that the R and D department made especially for this mission. Bond could tell because it matched the fake equipment that this Snake character wore to the letter. _Maybe I'll just bomb MI6 headquarters, take care of the whole lot._ He zipped the suit up and put everything on, adjusting straps and snapping snaps and holstering weapons. The final one was a concession to the video game: a silenced assault rifle that Q had designed and machined completely by hand, chambered to five point fifty six millimeters and made to look exactly like Snake’s rifle. Therefore, it didn’t look real. But he was there when Q test-fired it. It was real. Very real.

He got the white wig and fake mustache on, and glanced in the mirror above the headboard of the bed, smirking at himself. Hell, he really didn’t look half bad! He tied on the black headband and set up the earpiece. For once, he was actually starting to feel good about this mess. A muttered curse from the bathroom, heated and deep, made him turn his head.

He almost dropped the rifle.

\----------------------------------------------------------------- 

Q slipped the headgear over his face and made the final adjustments, making sure that it stayed in position, and flipped the face armour up and down to test the joint. Everything was working perfectly, right down to the strange boots he was wearing. He gave himself one last once-over in the full length mirror on the back of the door, impressed at the padding Samuel had added to the cyborg outfit, giving his body the musculature it needed to fill it out. Smiling, he opened the door, took one step out into the main room -

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Bond looked... Q’s brain blue-screened as it fought to find a word that conveyed the encompassing collective keysmash his body was doing. Wasn’t breathing autonomic? Why was he having to remember to suck in air? Bond turned and did a very accurate physical description of Q’s brain.

“Oh, my God, Bond,” Q breathed.

Bond, for the record, didn’t seem to be capable of speech. The hacker had to remind himself that this wasn’t actually his body Bond was looking at. But then again, the Double O kept finding himself in Q’s bed. Or the other way around. So maybe it didn’t matter that Q wasn’t built like Raiden. Bond, on the other hand, didn’t need padding. Each of his muscles stood stark against the material, making Q’s mouth water. He swallowed, glad that part of his body was still functioning...and then his mind went right down into the gutter. _I wonder if I could take him that far down, enough to swallow around him?_ He realised Bond was talking, finally talking. What was he saying?

“I’m sorry?”

Bond huffed, and he seemed to have gathered his wits around him once more. “I was saying that we should get a move on if we are going to...are you wearing heels?”

Q looked down. “Yes.”

“Alright then?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go.”

Raiden nodded, gathered his (thankfully fake) blade and his messenger bag, then followed Snake out of the suite.

\----------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Comm check, 007.”

“Confirmed. I can hear you.” Bond had to admire the sheer balls and artistic ability of some of these people. He tried not to stare at one in particular who actually was dressed up as Jabba the Hut. Then he spotted a Wookie and decided to turn away from that one lest it actually made the noise. That might send him over the edge. “That’s some setup you have there.”

“Thank you. I did it myself.”

“Of course you did.”

They moved through the heavily crowded convention floor, staying in sync and in character. Bond could tell one major flaw in Q’s plan to infiltrate this convention of all things geek - as ...whatever the hell they were called... they were almost required to stay in character almost the entire time because of fans, pictures, roleplaying...the possibilities were endless here. He scowled as they were accosted by a group of Japanese lolitas - that style, he knew about - who wanted photos with them. Once free again, Q snorted.

“This could be so much worse, 007, and you know it.”

“Not by much.” His right testicle was now traveling, and he couldn’t imagine that the hacker could be comfortable in the bloody heeled boots he was wearing. His head swiveled, looking for their target, Nikolai Akenyov. “Damn it, could he be...dressed up too?”

“Cosplaying? Doubt it. He might have thought of it, but it would have to be something recognisable to his cohorts. Most likely not, then.”

“So why the hell did we do it?”

“Akenyov knows what we look like, Agent.” Q smiled and paused to pose for a camera. “Besides, we can get away with looking like agents looking for something or someone because that is our character. Trust me, this was the best idea I could come up with in such short notice.”

Bond scowled in memory. M had called personally two days ago with the mission, ruining his plans of treating Q to the best sushi around. Naturally, that was in Japan. So here they were, in Tokyo, taking a mini-vacation, and now they were on a time-sensitive mission and was Q actually happy about this? Bond stared at him. He was! The Quartermaster looked like he was having the time of his life.

Bond smiled.

This is the perfect vacation, after all.


	8. Chapter 8

Three hours into their venture into the world of Geek, as Bond was beginning to call it, and still no sign of Akeynov. As breathable as his costume was, it was starting to become very, very... _very_ uncomfortable. And as they rounded the corner of a fantasy art booth, the inevitable came to his attention. Bond breathed, trying to ignore it. It wouldn’t go away, though. He stood through two more photo sessions and bent over to Q. “I have really got to get out of this thing for a bit. It’s...itching.”

Q stared at him. “Itching?”

“Yes. Damn it, it’s itching, and I really need to use the lad’s room.”

“You are kidding me.” Bond shook his head, and Q huffed. “Alright, fine. It’s not like we are making any headway. I’ll keep an eye out for Akenyov, browse around for a bit. I’ll probably be over by the drinks by the time you make it out again.” He winked up at the agent. “A friendly warning.”

“Duly noted.” He’d already seen the line outside the restrooms, and he wasn’t looking forward to the wait, but at least he could watch to see if the bastard had taken a leak while they were faffing off out here. “I’ll be a bit.” He smirked. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“I don’t plan on it.” Q returned the smirk and turned away to talk about video games with a young man. Bond moved to the exit of the convention center, not worried in the slightest that Q would be vigilant, even in this place. It had to be as much of an absolute heaven for the hacker as it was a terrible hell for himself.

At least, he hoped Q could stay focused. Poor boy had the attention span of a newt sometimes.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Q slipped through a group of Shinigami, then dodged around the Shinsengumi and a cluster of random American tourists, finally making it to a closed off corner of the room. The blackout curtains completely hid what was going on beyond, but he knew what it was. The man standing at the entrance stared hard at Q in a way that he supposed was meant to look intimidating. And it probably was, to someone who didn’t hang around the deadliest men and women in the world and still manage to intimidate even them. So a half-arsed rent-a-cop didn’t actually stand a chance with him.

“Tesla,” he murmured, and held up his lanyard. The man nodded, not changing his expression, and allowed Q entrance.

Five minutes later, he walked back out with three bags full of all sorts of happy shiny goodies for Q branch. _God, I love hacker central!_ He whistled a short little tune as he scanned again for their target, who still eluded him. _Where is this bastard?_ He moved on to another booth, this one showing off a collection of Dungeons and Dragons items. He smiled when he saw his go-to set of dice, and decided to pick up another set. He took another look around, then spotted a booth selling decorative knives. As he neared, he spotted a full set of samurai swords on display in a glass case. _Oh my God, I have to have them. Need. Must have. Grabby fucking hands._

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Bond glanced at his watch, and dropped his head back against the wall. The urge to piss was almost overwhelming at this point, but he could wait. He’s waited before. He thunked his head on the wall a couple more times for good measure and sighed. _This is taking forever._ At least he was near the door now. Near enough to...perfect. A pale, scrawny man with greasy brown hair looked around before adjusting his glasses and walking away from the door and Bond’s position in the line. The agent pushed away from the wall, making it look like he was just sick of waiting. The hall was by no means deserted, so he could easily slip into the flow and track the man.

“I have Nikolai in sight, Q. He just left the restroom. I’m following now.” All thoughts of relieving himself were now on the backburner. He was on the hunt.

In his ear, Q grunted. “Perfect. Do you need assistance?”

“No. I’ll get him, then get the location of the device out of him.”

“Acknowledged. See you back at the suite, then.”

Bond smiled as he neared his target, who walked into one of the smaller rooms. He followed, eyes roving around the apparent workshop for - he glanced at a sign that said ‘MMORPG Tips and Techniques’ and shook his head. “Later.” He spotted Akenyov again, and wasted no time in grabbing the man by the scruff of the neck and growling in his ear.

“Оставайся на месте и не издавай ни звука, или умрешь там, где стоишь. Твой выбор.”

The man’s eyes bugged. “I-I-I don’t speak Russian. M-my dad does...I never learned it, I swear!”

Bond cursed. “Fine. Come with me, quietly. If you don’t, I’m going to kill you.”

“Oh, God.”

“He’s not going to help you now. Are you going to cooper -”

Nikolai made his best impression of a bobblehead. “Yes! Yes, for the love of God, they said I wouldn’t get caught!”

Bond cast around, looking for someone that had overheard the outburst, but no one was even paying attention - their heads were all down, looking at the flat screen monitors in front of them, headphones on. He stared at Nikolai and shook him. “You are lucky no one heard that. Come on. Let’s go somewhere comfortable and talk, shall we?” He offered his most acidic smile.

“We don’t have time!” Nikolai nearly shouted and twisted in Bond’s grip. “It’s going to go off in twenty minutes, I need to get -”

A rock dropped in Bond’s stomach, and his grip on the now bomber tightened. “What?”

“The nuke! It’s going to go off!”

Bond turned away to focus. “Q, are you getting this?”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Q tossed nearly everything he’d gotten into the foyer and slammed the door to the suite again, ignoring his tablet to put the HUD display to a full out field test, right here in the middle of a convention. “I’m with you, Bond. I’m looking for possible hiding spots for this thing now. Tell me the bastard is talking!” He bolted down the hallway, straight for the emergency stairwell, flicking things off the screen with his eyes and trying not to trip in his damned boots.

Bond’s voice came over the comm again. “He said that it is in the electrical room, near the furnaces. Don’t know if that helps. I’m on my way.”

“I’m heading down now.” He pulled up the building schematics on the visor using just his eyes and smiled giddily. “I’m fucking Tony Stark, James.”

“Brilliant. Can you get there in time?” Q could hear the agent running. He hit the swinging doors and slammed them open, flying down the concrete stairs two at a time and praying that he would manage not to trip up and go headfirst into the walls at each turn.

“I am positive I will reach it faster than you. I have a map. I also have the ability to disable a bomb. Where did you stuff Akenyov?”

“Supply closet. He’ll be fine until the police arrive.”

Q snorted, thankful for the hours he spent jogging in the lower level gym at the MI6 building. “Splendid. I’m almost to the basement.” His eyes tracked Bond by the biometric tracker in his forearm, a light blue blip on the display. Q himself was a green blip, and the electrical room was lit up in red. He shouldered the door open and burst into the dark room beyond. “I’m two hundred meters from the room.”

“Good.” Q heard a door slam open on the other end of the basement, the sound echoing through the room.

“007. Are you in the basement?”

A pause. “No.”

Q breathed in, quiet. “I’m not alone down here. Hurry. I’m going to the room now.”

“Q, abort. I’ll handle it. You just get your skinny hacker arse back up top.”

Q moved forward, holding the wakizashi in his hand while bracing his messenger bag with the other. “I’ll be fine. Just get down here.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Bond hissed with a sudden flare of anger and slammed against the wall at the last landing. _Damn it, damn it damn it!_ He jumped the last level of stairs and slid to a stop at the door...that stood open. _I didn’t hear someone in front of me._ He hissed and raised the assault rifle, then stepped through, watchful for anyone or anything that could make his or the Quartermaster’s day very bad. He didn’t see anything immediately, and he moved forward quickly, foot in front of foot, just like back in the military.

“Q!” he hissed into the comm. “Report.”

“I’m at the device.” Rustling. _He must be looking through his bag_. “This is a very simple design. I’ll have it cracked in no time. Are you here?”

“Moving towards you now.”

“Yes, I can see you in the display. There is another signature in the area, though. It doesn’t know I’m here, though.”

Bond cursed in his mind. “Move quickly. We don’t have much time.”

“This HUD thing is amazing, 007. I’ve got the schematics of the bomb laid over the real thing, and it’s brilliant. I can really see what I am doing, which is much different than trying to do it all from memory.”

Bond wanted to tell the man to shut up, he really did. But he could hear the very slight waver in his voice, something tiny that betrayed his nervousness. _This was different than being the voice in our ear. He is scared, and trusts me enough to let it through a bit. Running his mouth must be a defence mechanism to keep him focused._ “Ten out of ten, would use again?”

“I’m thinking of introducing it to R and D for testing.” A sigh, a snap... “Done. And he’s right here.”

Adrenalin slammed into Bond’s bloodstream, pushing him into a flat-out run. “Q!” In the earpiece, he could hear the man’s breathing speed up, could hear the assailant cursing in Russian. Q said something back, something in Japanese - Q knows Japanese? - then a howl of agony that rang through the still air, very close -

A man stumbled backwards out of an alcove, clutching his stomach and screaming in agony. Q stepped out, holding a gleaming, bloody sword. Bond raised the gun in his hands and tapped out two subsonic bullets, taking the man in the head. The body dropped to the floor, and Q slumped against the humming electrical boxes.

“007. It wasn’t a room, actually, but a niche in the equipment.” He breathed out, and sank to the floor. Bond knelt down next to him, and removed the blade from his hands. “Good thing I brought the wakizashi with me, yeah?”

Bond looked at it. It was definitely real. “Where did you find this?”

“I bought it.” Q flapped his hand. “Well, rather, I bought three of them. A whole set, Bond. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? And now it has tasted blood. The gods must be proud of me now.”

“Do you have a concussion?”

Q laughed. “No, but I spent almost all our cash on things.”

Bond snorted, and kissed Q. “You are kidding me.”

“Not a bit. I have a talking globe now.”

“No.”

Q smiled, and pulled Bond back down. “And goodies. And I possibly invited a couple of fine looking ladies to meet us at the lounge for drinks later.”

Bond breathed into Q’s mouth, lips mere centimeters from his. “Oh, really?”

“Oh, yes. You know how you Double Os get after missions.”

“Don’t I, now.” He enveloped Q in his arms and locked his lips over his, licking the rest of Q’s words out of his mouth.


End file.
